


Voices

by Valleyflower



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Everybody Dies, Hurt No Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29332527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valleyflower/pseuds/Valleyflower
Summary: Lorne hears voices. He always has.snatches of missing scenes from pre-series 1 to post-series 5, the only change being that Lorne knows a lot more than he was ever meant to.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	Voices

**Author's Note:**

> I am terrible at summaries! Basically, I took the line somewhere back in series 2 where Lorne said he used to hear voices in his head that were actually just music, and ran with it. i just finished series 5 and am incredibly full of angst okay-

Lorne hears voices. He always has. 

At first, when he was just a kid, they were barely whispers. They sounded like the wind blowing through the trees on a stormy night, or a bird tweeting at dawn. As he got older, they formed themselves into words about love and adventure and hope, but in strange voices that floated up and down in a way he didn't recognise. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard, and learning how to copy the voices was one of the only things he enjoyed in Pylea. 

When he came to Earth, he learnt that the floating words were called songs. Most of the people in this dimension liked them, but their level of skill at copying them varied. Apparently, he was better than most. The friends he quickly made seemed to like the way that his voice took the melodies and made them his own.

The first time Lorne heard someone else sing, he thought he'd gone mad. Images flashed through his head almost faster than he could count, early mornings and careful walks through sewers and evenings spent happily with friends. The person who'd sang, a half-demon named Gary, had to convince a terrified, crying Lorne that he was still sane, still existed, and that nobody was going to take him and experiment on him. When they'd come to the conclusion that he had seen the future, his Pylean instincts had kicked in again to scream that he was Cursed and had done something terribly wrong to deserve this punishment. Gary, who had been expecting a fun night of culture exploration with his strange but charismatic friend, had ended up with the exact opposite. He was a good guy though, so fumbled his way through calming Lorne down until he wasn't hiding in a corner and mumbling about being cursed. 

It took time for him to get used to his ability. But after realising he could use it for good, and setting up a kareoke bar to do just that, he was positively thriving. Peaceful demons flocked to Caritas to escape the danger of the wider world, demons of all types loved being able to present as themselves, and demons and humans alike agreed that it had the best atmosphere of any cross-species bar in LA. Lorne felt like he had found his own little space in the world, and the voices soared with beautiful melodies that led him to think they agreed. 

The day that he now marked as When Things Changed was a Thursday. A young Brachen hybrid who he'd seen a few times before had decided to get on stage for the first time. The half-demon looked rather uncertain, but finished off his drink and launched into a rendition of  _ Fairytale of New York _ . 

The pictures that his Irish-accented voice drew in Lorne's mind were fairly normal at first, if a bit more vivid than usual. More sleepless nights and drowned sorrows, a spark of imminent danger(he'd have to warn the singer after), a black convertible and swapped quips. Reluctant friendships, and a girl who glowed pink with young love. But then he felt a third presence through the link the song had allowed him to form, and it felt like a tidal wave about to slap them both in the face. He barely had time to shout "What the hell is that?!" before the force hit him. 

A vampire with dark eyes and a darker soul, seeking redemption. The girl from earlier, still glowing bright as a firecracker. A ship and a weapon and he heard a whimper as a life fizzled out, but his own Sight careered on further. Flashes of blonde hair and desperation, green fields that looked almost like home and a shattered but brilliant girl with frantic eyes behind her scratched glasses. Pure, unfiltered love and joy, suspicion and the urge to do what's right, a flash of terror as a phantom knife slid across his neck. Hope lost and found and lost again, raging against a world that only hurt them, the overwhelming scent of smoke and jasmine. Cold hopelessness, bone-crushing tiredness and betrayal, two muffled bullets and sobbing in a lonely car outside an inferno. The pictures faded but the all-encompassing loneliness remained, bringing tears to his tightly shut eyes. Lorne slowly came back to himself, feeling the bar at his back and solid floor underneath him. His hands seemed to have automatically gone to cover his ears, and he carefully removed them. He looked up from where he had ended up on the floor to see the Irish half-demon who had been singing looking concerned and a bit worse for wear. The man noticed and started talking quickly. "Jesus man I'm so sorry that happened, I get these visions sometimes and this one was pretty strong, I'm so sorry.." Lorne waved off the apologies and got up off the ground, gesturing to a seat next to the bar and sitting down on the one next to it. The man(Doyle, he'd heard his name somewhere in the vision) gratefully sank down into it and ordered a whiskey. He looked over again, still concerned, and quietly asked, "You okay, man? Y' kind of…haven't said anything since y' stopped seizin' and cryin' on the floor…"

Lorne took a deep breath, willed his voice to come back to him, and replied, "Peachy. Just a lot more than the usual engagements and test results, you know?" 

Doyle looked guilty again. "Sorry bout that man, should just waited for the Powers to tell me where to go 'stead of gettin' impatient…" he took his whiskey that had just arrived and took a deep drink. Lorne sipped the seabreeze that had fortunately stayed on the table during the vision fiasco."No worries, you couldn't have known. But I guess you don't need any guidance from this seer now, huh?" 

Doyle laughed and shook his head. "Guess not! Powers said I gotta go help this big depressed lump of a vamp called Angel, some special champion or somethin. Proper girly name for such a broody guy, if you ask me!" He noticed the very clear confusion on Lorne's face."What's the face for?"

"...Sugar, I don't think the Powers showed us the same thing." 

It was Doyle's turn to be confused. "What? How? You were looking in my head! Does that mean the bastards were lyin'?" 

"No no no, I still saw Tall Dark and Broody in your future. They didn't show me any names or places, though, just the cliff notes of…around four or so years of the future?"

Doyle made a noise of pure confusion, and Lorne carried on speculating. 

"I don't think they were expecting a guest to the show, so they forgot to kick me out of the ride and told me  _ way _ more than what I was meant to see. But since I'm not used to capital-v Visions like you are, it wasn't much more than flashes. Very painful flashes." The voices sounded like a thunderstorm in his head, scared and confused. He wished they would quieten down, but understood that having their space invaded like that would be rather creepy. Doyle was staring into the bottom of his glass like it held all the answers they needed. "Makes some sort of twisted sense, I guess. Anythin' I need to know from the accidental data leak, then?" 

Lorne flicked through the pictures as quickly as he could, trying to zone in on Doyle's aura. He felt one that matched, and looked into it. 

_ Fear, gratitude, marching feet and barking words. Fast car, laughter, peaceful resignation. Metal crash, bright lights, it burns  _ **_it burns_ ** _ - _

Two hands landed securely on his shoulders and he snapped out of it, twitching hard. Doyle, owner of the hands, looked even more worried than he had the first time. "Y' went all jittery again, man, eyes rollin' back an' all. The hell did the Powers put into ya?" 

Lorne put his hands over his eyes and groaned. "No clue, sugar, but it's got expandable folders. Biggest thing with you looked like some big flashy ball in a metal hall-like place. No idea  _ what  _ the ball is or  _ where  _ the big room would be, but I guess that's what I get for hitchhiking straight up to the PTB."

Doyle winced in sympathy."Look, if there's anythin' I can do ta apologise for puttin' a big ol' prophecy book in your head…"

Lorne thought it over. The voices continued their shrill chorus of fear, and he tried to not let it show on his face. "Two things. One,  _ please _ don't sing within earshot if you're due a vision again." He left a gap for Doyle to agree and continued, "Two…don't go back to that tiny apartment tonight. I got a reading on some danger there before the fairytale of Los Angeles got a premiere in my head."

A flash of relief went through Doyle's aura. "Yep and yep to those. Erm…please don't go vision-combin' again, but did any of the future feature a place to crash 'til the danger gets bored?" 

Lorne looked up and raised an eyebrow. "You really think I'd kick a force for good out into the street after telling him that? My place is upstairs, couch is free, aspirin is also free. Your aura's literally pulsing with the whiskey slash vision headache you've got coming, sweet."

"Thanks a million, really can't thank y' enough. Or say sorry enough. Sorry again."

"It's fine, again."

"Sorry-" the Irishman cut himself off, looking severely disappointed in himself for apologising for apologising. Lorne couldn't help but laugh at that. 

Over the next few years, things changed a lot. He heard about most of the early events from people who frequented the bar. A loose-skinned demon told him about a new champion in town, the supposed vampire with a soul that went by the name of Angel. He had started a detective agency with two friends of his, Doyle and Cordelia. Lorne assumed that was the glowing girl, and smiled to himself at the joy he'd felt between the two. 

A few months later, a rattled looking Brachen demon relayed the story of some demon nazis trying to release a mass murder weapon on a boat full of innocent people, but being stopped by the sacrifice of a brave half-demon with a lilting accent. His mind flashed back to the resigned acceptance and the burning agony, but if anyone noticed the trembling in his hands for the rest of the night, they said nothing. 

Angel himself appeared in Caritas almost a year later, and sang horrendously to try and save a life. An ex-watcher named Wesley and the glowing girl, Cordelia, were there too. He could see the weight of the visions on her like a lead balloon, but said nothing. It wasn't his job to intrude in the business of others. 

Angel took a dark turn that year, but turned back eventually during one midnight chat in a very closed Caritas. The blonde desperation, he quietly checked off his list. Darla. She had longed to be a vampire again, and her scent was all over Angel. No blood, though. He was grateful that the Champion didn't need too much of a nudge to stay on the path. The voices hummed happily, by now used to the volatile brick of unpacked visions in the corner. Going off the path meant delving more into them, and they dreaded that. 

The green green grass of home came true, too, to Lorne's disappointment. The first voices of breeze and birdsong were much louder here than all the vocal ghosts, and some part of him found solace in the silence he'd missed for so long. But LA was home, so he returned with the others(including an extra person, Fred, whose genius hid behind nigh-madness and worn-out glasses). 

For a while, life was too busy to consult the visions often. He was fully part of the team now, helping the good fight. He was only jerked back into them once, when Wesley's quiet lullaby left him with a giant bruise on his head and a searing phantom pain on his neck that wouldn't go away for days. When he heard about what had happened to the Watcher, he wasn't surprised. 

The visions told him nothing about Vegas. It was a months-long nightmare that left him with blood indirectly on his hands. That night in the Hyperion, and many nights before in his glorified prison, he delved deep into the past visions just to feel everyone's pain and suffering compounded onto him. One voice rose over all the others on that night, whispering reassurances until the twitching of vision-pain stopped. This one sounded…different. More like its own person. Exhausted out of his mind but curious, Lorne whispered to it in the dark. "Who are you?" 

_ "Lorne, man, I think you know. It's been lovely visitin' ya, but I've gotta go now, yeah? Lookin' for Cordy. Say hi for me if y' find her on your side, kay?"  _

Only Angel heard the choked sobs from Lorne's room that night, and he didn't mention it the next day. 

The moment he started to read Cordelia, the voices screamed in a symphony of agony. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, something bigger than anyone could comprehend. 

It smelt of smoke and jasmine. 

Over the next few months, the voices got quieter. Shouts, then exhausted whispers, then quite suddenly, nothing at all. Jasmine's love washed over them all, and he couldn't even remember why he'd ever been worried. Who needed voices and visions when all there was to see was happiness, and all there was to hear was the enlightened people praising Her? 

When Angel and Fred snapped him out, the voices came rushing back like a tidal wave. They flooded his mind with worry and relief and fear, like they'd been trapped in limbo whilst Lorne was under control. Maybe they had? They'd never really been clear on what they were. He resolved to ask them sometime, maybe when they weren't clogging his mind with-

Smoke and Jasmine. 

Of course. He'd been warned years ago. If only he'd seen through it, if only he'd known! But there was no use in those thoughts now. 

It was time to save the world. 

The world had gone too far to save. 

They were being controlled by Wolfram and Hart. Nothing made sense, his family was being ripped apart, and he barely slept anymore. The last night that he'd tried, a hesitant Southern voice had appeared in the space between wakefulness and sleep. It was fuzzy and muffled but still distinct from the others, a visitor to a place it-  _ she _ \- didn't belong. She had whispered about love, about how much her wonderful family here had helped her after years trapped in Hell, about how she believed that they would be able to make it out of here alive. A wry chuckle only he could hear, " _ Well, more alive than me." _ He listened to her ramble like she always had, whispering quips in response to her tangents, until her voice started fading, her grasp weakening. The last thing he heard before she was gone was a simple, quiet goodbye. 

_ "I'll miss y'all. Love you, Lorne, and good-"  _

He waited for any last echoes. None. 

"I love you too, Fred." he whispered into the blackness of his room before breaking. 

One last job. And now he was gone. The visions that the Powers had sent all those years ago were all used up, and he'd done the final job. 

Two bullets. With a silencer. Didn't sound loud enough to kill. 

He pulled over by the side of the empty desert road in the car he'd stolen from Wolfram and Hart. He'd learnt how to drive it from its previous owner, one fun-filled night near the start of their time at the company. 

He'd never see Angel again. 

He didn't want to. 

Lorne turned off the engine and looked out at the burning city in the distance. The inferno that he'd already seen. The voices were almost silent, like they were mourning. For all he knew, they could be. Everyone could've died, or nobody could. He'd never know who was dead, apart from the man he'd killed. 

He watched a tower topple into the flames. The life he'd made for himself, gone. The family he'd loved, gone. 

He stayed almost frozen, refusing to process any of it, until a song started playing in his head. 

_ "Pretty girl on every corner _

_ Sunshine turns the sky to gold _

_ Warm warm, it's always warm here _

_ I can't take the cold" _

He watched the flames engulf the city and laughed bitterly. Of course this was the song his head chose to play for its demise. 

" _ Streets littered with diamonds _

_ Every one's glistening _

_ This whole world shines so brightly _

_ I can't see a thing"  _

They'd all been blinded by the riches and appeal of the Senior Partners. Blind until it was too late. Until they'd all been broken like shattered glass. 

" _ She's pretty as a picture _

_ She is like a golden ring _

_ Circles me with love and laughter _

_ I can't feel a thing"  _

Cordelia. Fred. Oh, Fred. Her body was probably fighting for the city right now, the soul that had whispered its goodbyes weeks ago trapped inside her. What he wouldn't give to have that Southern twang taking up the guest spot instead of-

Oh God. 

This wasn't just a song. 

" _ The sky's gonna open _

_ People gonna pray and crawl _

_ It's gonna rain down fire _

_ It's gonna burn us all"  _

Somehow, Lindsey had known. He'd understood how this would all end, just like Lorne had. Fire, brimstone, and the ghost of the man he'd just killed in his head. A man who he'd heard singing so many times, giving his final encore. 

"Lindsey?" 

The song stopped, and Lorne's suspicions were confirmed. A Texan voice, softer than before, answered. " _ Last I heard, yours is the only head with rental spots." _

The man sounded like he had when he'd supposedly left LA for good. At peace. Like someone who'd finally found their way out of a role that was killing them. In a way, that was exactly what had happened. 

"How…how are you here?" 

" _ Just thought I'd stop by before Hell, clear the air. _ " The laugh in his head echoed.  _ "Power was one hell of a drug…wore off after the bullets stopped stinging." _

"God, I'm so sorry-" 

_ "Don't be. You were just doing what Angel said. Murder by proxy, one last job. Hate the person who gave the orders, not the one who carried them out." _

"One last job." Lorne echoed hollowly. "And then it's all gone."

_ "Yep." _ the ghost popped the P.  _ "Similar situation here. One last song until I'm gone. Mind if I finish it off, just for old times sake?"  _

Lorne nodded, still staring into the flames. He couldn't think of any words to say that would make it hurt less. Instead, he stayed silent as the guitar picked up again for the final verse.

" _ The sky's gonna open _

_ People gonna pray and sing _

_ I can't feel a thing _

_ Oh, I can't feel."  _

The silence might have been for minutes or hours. Lorne couldn't tell anymore. His vision blurred as he said quietly, "see you around, Lindsey."

_ "Hope I don't." _ and with that, the ghost was gone. 

The man he'd murdered had used his last words on Earth to forgive him. 

Lorne watched another tower fall, and let his tears fall with it. 

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a kudos and comment if you enjoyed, engagement seems to be really low in this fandom but comments give me the happy chemical :)


End file.
